The Clato Story: Reprise
by amir.alexander.315
Summary: Clove has been bent on winning The Hunger Games ever since her fathers death. When she finally has the chance of victory in her hands will she let it slip due to a golden haired boy? Or will she buckle down and ignore her feelings for her secret lover?


**A/N What's up world of fanfic? I just reread that first sentence and now I can't stop cringing, whatever. Years and years and years ago I really got into this website, my most famous book, The Clato Story was the first full story I ever completed on here. At the time of writing I was a very inexperienced writer and freshman. Recently I've been going through this site, rereading all of my past work. Most of the stories are complete butt, and I don't advise anyone to read them, though if you need a laugh or want to experience how truly bad of a writer I was I will leave the old version of this story up for you guys to see. Though I adore and find humor in my old story, I feel it deserves a chance to be written in proper English and with okay grammar. Without further ado, here is the revised version of The Clato Story.**

 ** _Chapter 1-_**

I slowly dunk my head beneath the groggy warm water. The water in the tub is too shallow, so whenever my head goes down my knees are forced from the warmth of the bath and into the nippy earthy smelling air. When I was younger my father would dunk me down into the water like this after his shift in the mayor's office. He told me I'd need stronger lungs if I ever entered the games. That's all he ever worried about, well, at least as long as I knew him. I'd been training for the games since his sibling's death. He didn't want to see his little girl end up like them, a warrior instead of a sweet daughter. I guess I'd become that over time. His death helped push me even further. That's when I stopped training to survive and started training to kill.

I resurface, my slick thin hair clinging to my bare shoulders. I grab the oversized grey towel from the edge of the sink, wrapping it around my torso. I step in front of the gritty full sized mirror at the opposite side of the bathroom. Last night all of the careers in my training camp had gathered for the drawing. There were other academies in the district, though my father had enrolled me in the best. Most people in the district knew of our illegal training, including a good portion of our peacekeepers. No one cared though, they encouraged their children to take whatever steps it took to win the games and bring home money.

I won the drawing in my academy, it was similar to the ones at the reapings but instead of drawing for who would enter the games we decided who would volunteer to enter. Our names were entered depending on our ranks, mines was entered three hundred and fifty five times. So me winning the rights to be reaped was inevitable. Maxwell Lagnew won the boys drawing, he was nearly thirty ranks behind me and two years younger. The other training academies hadn't shared who won their drawings, all I knew is that there were nine other girls who'd also won the rights to yelling out their self-nominations and nine other boys who could volunteer before Maxwell could. There was also the possibility that someone who hadn't won the rights to volunteer would disobey their academies trainer and nominate themselves too. I'd just have to be the quickest.

I stare at the small angry looking girl who stands on the opposing side of the mirror. Today was the day I'd start the job I'd been training nearly a decade to do. It was the first time I'd truly given it thought. The girl in the mirrors cold expression softens, just for a moment revealing my anxiousness. The bathroom door creaks open. By reflex my fist ball up, ready to attack the person tromping into the room. Gracies grey eyes meet mine as she enters.

She falls back a couple steps once she sees my risen fist. "What the hell is wrong with you? Huh? You never learn how to knock!" I ask toughly. My sister falls against the door frame, starring up at me with the most terrifying expression written over her face. After a beat we both break, laughing in unison.

"Why are you laughing punk?" I say in between laughs. I grab her with one arm and hold the soggy towel up with the other. "Clove!" She shrieks. "Put me down looser." She adds. I set the younger girl down upright, whipping the water I'd splashed on her away from her cheeks. She smiles up at me, a mixture of awe and excitement printed across her face. Three years ago a cluster of people decided to rebel, my father and both of Gracie's parents were a part of the team who'd went to diffuse the situation. I started volunteering at the orphanage a week or so after their death. She was the tunnel back into my light side, I found my ambition to win in her. My baby sister.

"Momma has your dress ironed out." She giggles, tugging a loose strand her golden tendrils behind her ear. I smile, removing my hand from her face. "Okay, give me a minute to get ready and I'll be down." I smile. She nods, turning towards the door. I close the door behind her, turning back to the mirror. I quickly tie my hair back into a braid not knowing what to do with the wet hair.

After finishing up in the bathroom, I march downstairs. My mother barely looks at me, she stands in the kitchen, chopping up an apple for Gracie to snack on during the reapings. "Hi mother." I say dropping my towel, exposing my naked body. She glances at me. "Sweetie why aren't you dressed? The reapings start in twenty." She says. I roll my eyes. "In a rush to see me drop dead are you?" I feel a smile creep over me, though I don't mean to. "Clove, I've spoken with you about that morbid humor of yours before." She shakes her head softly.

"Whatever." I say casually grabbing my dress from the ironing board. I slip the dark grey gown on. "How do I look?" It had gotten gradually harder to hold a conversation with my mother. After my father's death she continued to pay for my training though she never wanted to hear about it. We generally just communicate in hellos and goodbyes. Occasionally I add in a gory joke during our small talk, which she always lectures me about. She bags up the apple chunks, handing it to the young girl at the table. Gracie thanks her politely. "Fine." She places the knife she'd been using down on the counter.

"Let's just get to the reaping, I have to get back so I can repair the feast for the Mayors dinner tonight." She says clapping her hands together. I don't feel as insulted by my mother's lack of interest in her daughter's possible death as I thought I would. She didn't even react when I told her I had won the rights to volunteer. I smile wryly, crossing my arms. "Sure." I say scooting towards the counter where the knife lies. I tuck the weapon into my dress's pocket as my other adjusts her earrings.

I sign in and march my way to the section marked for fifteen year old girls. We were wealthy enough to not need tesserae though I still took some to increase my odds of getting chosen, same as many of the other girls in my district. We give one another dirty looks and hard stares as the crowd fills in. I stand with my arms folded and my feet tapping against the ground like a beaver to a dam. The districts escort files in, Echo Bubbleby. She's dressed up like a cat as she always is every year. I guess she has an affinity for the animal or something. There's nothing too exciting or special about her. She talks in the same Capitol tone that most of the Capitol Aliens do. And wears the same glitzy exciting dresses the Capitol Aliens do. It all seemed like too much to me.

She opens up the ceremony the same way she always does. The career districts are the only ones that cheer at the reapings. They hoot and stomp their feet against the ground so hard you can feel it throughout the districts. The Magnavox group's voices echo from the mountain, nearly drowning out Echo as she fishes through the girls bowl. This was it. The stat of my career. My heart jiggles up to my throat and then anchors itself down into my stomach. So this is what nervous felt like. I see the other girls ready themselves to volunteer. She call the name, a girl, someone I'd never seen drifts up there. Obviously afraid. The question everyone is anticipating lies on the tip of our escort's tongue.

When she asks I feel myself yell it out. The words I'd been given the right to ask through nine hard years of training. "I volunteer!" I say it, a beat before any of the nine other girls from the rival academies can. That's it. I just said it. The cameras pan towards me, and so does everyone's stare. After the moment of shock, I realize that all of the country would eventually see this, and I couldn't let them see me in any version of myself but angry. It's the persona, I was deciding now, that I wanted to be. With the hardest tough-girl look on, I push aside the girls who are too stubborn to make way for me. I search the crowd for my family as I waltz through rows of peacekeepers. My heart thuds harder. And harder. And harder. This was real. This was it.

I float next to Echo, and the girl on stage floats back down into the crowd. I look out down upon my nation as they stomp and cheer for me. Echo places her hand on my lower back, which I jerk away from on instinct. She tries to shake off my rejection though I can tell she's affected by it. She moves onto the boys. I try not to pretend that I'm not uncomfortable with standing in front of everyone in my district. The boy that joins me comes from the twelve year old section. I know the careers won't even give Echo the chance to finish her question before they come sprinting onto the stage. When she does ask for volunteers they do just as I suspected. I search in the crowd for the face to the voice who yelled 'I volunteer as tribute' first. That's when I see him. If I felt as if I was nervous before, I am completely a wreck now.

 **A/N Did ya like it? If so review, I might pump out a whole book if y'all want me to.**


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